


Yield Point

by weakinteraction



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Combat training as flirtation, First Time, M/M, Mentions of past canon het relationships, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-12 03:51:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11728917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weakinteraction/pseuds/weakinteraction
Summary: Geordi asks Worf to train him in hand to hand combat, with unexpected consequences.





	Yield Point

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Billythesock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Billythesock/gifts).



Geordi swung the bat'leth to and fro the way Worf had shown him, spinning it as it went, so that it seemed to fill all the space in front of him: the _yoD'etlh_ form, the shield of blades. The basic movements were familiar enough from Worf's calisthenics classes, but felt very different with the weapon heavy in his hand.

The trio of holographic attackers -- some sort of invented alien species, as far as Geordi could tell, with plated armour and fierce features that dimly recalled avian features -- paused in their onward rush, looking for a weak spot in Geordi's defences. After a moment, two began to circle around him on opposite sides, while the third advanced slowly.

Geordi let them come closer then lunged out to the left, slicing upwards into the attacker trying to flank him. He struggled for a moment to free the bat'leth again, and in that moment the other one was on him. Desperately, Geordi swung the bat'leth round, blocking the two daggers he was holding just in time. His opponent continued to press forward and Geordi had to lean in with all his strength to avoid being toppled over.

The third assailant took his chance, leaping forward. Geordi ducked, and as he did so the one locked into the horns of his bat'leth moved with him. Before he could disengage, Geordi pushed forward with all his strength, forcing him into the other enemy still standing and knocking them both to the ground.  
He was just turning around to Worf with a grin on his face when a fourth alien jumped out of the undergrowth and tackled him to the ground, making a victorious cawing sound. The bat'leth flew out of Geordi's hand, landing just out of reach in the swampy ground.

Worf stepped over, picking up the bat'leth as he did so. "Computer, delete enemies."

The alien pinning Geordi to the floor disappeared instantly, and Worf gave him a hand up.

"Y'know," Geordi said, "I would have seen that last guy hiding in the bushes straight away if the holodeck reproduced infrared properly." He tapped his VISOR for emphasis.

"A true warrior does not make excuses."

"I'm not looking to be a true warrior," Geordi said. "I just want to try to improve my chances of _not_ being knocked out and captured on away missions."

Worf considered for a moment. "If you wish to fight a real opponent," he said, "you may fight me."

"Whoa, there," Geordi said. "I'm really not sure I'm ready for that."

Worf ignored him, instead saying, "Computer, arena." The environment around them went out of focus for a moment, before changing to a circular ring, about three metres in diameter, its sandy floor marked with innumerable dried blood stains. Up in the stands were thousands of cheering, baying virtual Klingons.

"Computer, delete the audience," Geordi said.

Worf grunted, but didn't countermand the order. Instead, he lifted his bat'leth into a defensive stance, and said simply, "Fight me."

Geordi stepped backward, even though Worf wasn't advancing. He held his bat'leth out in front of him, and began to circle round, Worf turning to face him as he did so.

And then, suddenly, Worf was rushing forwards, bat'leth raised. Desperately, Geordi lifted his to defend himself and the blades clashed together with an enormous clang. They scraped against each other, sparks flying, as Worf tried to pull back but Geordi pressed forwards to lock them together.

Eventually, Worf did get free, and Geordi scrambled backwards, finding himself trapped against the wall of the arena. Worf came forward with a yell, bat'leth high in front of him. Geordi raised his own to mirror it and went on the attack himself, determined not to remain with his back to the wall.

Their blades locked together again, but Worf made a downward slashing motion that made Geordi lose his grip with his upper hand. Suddenly having the whole weight of the weapon in one hand put him out of balance and in a moment Worf was on him, knocking him to the floor and planting his bat'leth on the floor above Geordi's head.

"Yield!" Worf said.

"I yield! I yield!"

Suddenly Geordi was hyper-conscious of the weight of Worf above him, the sweat dripping from his brow. Despite the exertion, Geordi's breathing suddenly became shallow. And then he became aware of something else: a pressure on his thigh that came from Worf's hardness.

They looked directly at each other. Worf seemed shocked, almost panicked. Geordi wanted nothing more in that moment than to lean upwards, but before anything could happen, Worf stood up.

"Computer, exit!" Worf shouted.

The arch appeared and Worf stormed through it.

Geordi lay on the ground a while longer, at a loss to understand exactly what had just happened.

"Computer, end program," he said with a sigh.

The arena vanished around him. Geordi was shocked by the clattering sound as Worf's bat'leth fell over, freed from the holographic floor it had been wedged into.

Worf must have been really thrown to leave such a prized possession behind, Geordi thought. He would definitely want it back.

* * *

Geordi reached the door of Worf's quarters and thumbed the entry pad. There was no gruff "Come" or "Enter" in reply, but eventually he heard Worf's footsteps, and the door opened as he approached.

"You left your bat'leth," Geordi said, holding it out.

Worf snatched it away and said, "Thank you, Lieutenant Commander" before stalking back into his quarters.

Impulsively, Geordi followed before the doors could shut on him again. " _Lieutenant Commander_? Worf, you haven't spoken to me that formally in years."

Worf hung the bat'leth back in its place on the wall. Still facing away, he said quietly, "I apologise... Geordi." It was obvious that using his name was a real effort.

"Worf, we need to talk about what just happened."

"No, we do not," Worf said, finally turning round. Geordi was suddenly very aware of how much taller he was, yet behind the glowering expression on his face, Geordi thought he could detect confusion and vulnerability. "It was the heat of battle, nothing more."

A dozen possible responses formed in Geordi's mind, but none of them seemed adequate. He could sense that if he pushed too far he would anger Worf, and lose even his friendship. But he wasn't willing to do along with Worf's self-delusion either.

In the end, he just said, "I'll see you later, Worf."

Geordi didn't look back as he left Worf's quarters, but he could feel his eyes burning into him just the same.

* * *

Geordi lay awake for hours that night, turning everything over in his mind. Was there something he could have, should have said to Worf that would have persuaded him to open up? What exactly did he want him to open up about? He was suddenly, acutely aware of how attracted he was to this man who he had known for the best part of a decade. It wasn't that he had been unaware of Worf's size and strength before, the unexpected gracefulness with which he moved, but it seemed in retrospect that until what had happened on the holodeck he had unconsciously placed Worf in the category of people who were completely off-limits as potential romantic partners. Then again, Geordi thought ruefully, sometimes that category seemed to include pretty much everyone in the universe. Perhaps he should just ignore their encounter today, let things gradually return to normal between them.

Yet when he did finally drop into sleep, though, he found himself dreaming of Worf above him, the heat of his body, the sound of his heavy breathing. He woke up hard, sweat-soaked sheets tangled around him.

Geordi spent an indeterminate amount of time spent in unsuccessful attempts to ignore his erection, or to get it to subside, and finally just lying awkwardly hoping to fall back to sleep with it pinned underneath him. Eventually, though, he succumbed to the temptation that had been there from the beginning, and began to stroke himself. As he did so, he forced himself to try to think of anyone other than Worf, but each time he did his thoughts were led back to the jumbled imagery of his dream, and the real life encounter that had inspired it. When he came, hard, it was to the thought of Worf not on top of him but behind him, hands on his hips, just about to enter him. To the thought of yielding, utterly and completely.

* * *

Geordi managed a few hours' sleep after that, but was still out of sorts the next day. He attempted to throw himself into his work, as he so often did when his emotions were in turmoil. He was on the verge of ordering a Level 1 diagnostic of all ship's systems to give himself something to really get his teeth into, only held back from the idea by the knowledge of how much work it would entail for everyone on his team, how much disruption it would cause to the smooth running of half a dozen other departments.

At the morning briefing, Worf sat further down the table than usual. Geordi at first thought he was deliberately avoiding him, then chided himself that he was reading too much into things, and that it was almost certainly a coincidence. But as the meeting went on, and Worf seemed to be avoiding meeting his gaze, or addressing his comments directly to him -- even when agreeing with what he had just said -- Geordi decided that he wasn't being paranoid after all.

By the end of the meeting, he was mostly thankful that Deanna had had an appointment. He wasn't sure what would have been worse: if she'd decided that she needed to facilitate some sort of clearing of the air between them, or if she'd realised what was going on and contented herself with a sly joke or two. At Geordi's expense, naturally: she would have known better than to tease Worf in this sort of situation.

Given the atmosphere during the meeting, Geordi was surprised when Worf followed him into the turbolift after it broke up.

"You're, ah, not going back to your station on the bridge?" Geordi said as the turbolift got under way.

"Evidently not," Worf said.

They carried on in an uncomfortable silence until they were, by Geordi's reckoning, somewhere near the battle bridge. It was then that Worf suddenly said, "Halt turbolift."

They came to a smooth stop almost instantaneously. There was the tiniest judder -- Geordi made a mental note that the turbolift's IDF compensators would need realigning.

"Lieut-- Geordi," Worf said. "I should apologise. I have behaved dishonorably towards you."

"Worf, it's OK. I shouldn't have pushed you when you weren't comfortable--"

"No, you had-- you have a right to an explanation. May we speak tonight, once we are off duty?"

"Sure," Geordi said. "I'd like that. Shall we say, twenty hundred hours in Ten Forward?"

"I would prefer my quarters," Worf said.

"If you're sure."

"I am," Worf said. It almost sounded true.

* * *

And so, just over a day later, Geordi found himself back outside Worf's quarters. This time, Worf invited him in immediately, and Geordi stepped in to find him standing by the replicator.

"Would you like a drink? Prune juice, perhaps?"

"A raktajino would be good," Geordi said.

Worf raised an eyebrow, but said, "Hot, or iced?"

"Hot, please," Geordi said.

Worf got himself some thick concoction Geordi didn't recognise, and brought their drinks over to the small table. They sat down opposite each other. Geordi took a sip from his mug -- it turned out to be scalding hot, but he managed to avoid spitting it back out -- while Worf took a swig of whatever his drink was.

"Geordi," Worf said, "I fear I have offended you."

"No more than I fear I've offended you, I suspect," Geordi said.

Worf wouldn't acknowledge that directly. "I was unprepared for what happened yesterday. I should not have been."

"You mean...?"

Worf looked up at him directly. "I have long had a ... regard for you," he said earnestly. Geordi wasn't sure what he was more shocked by: what Worf was saying, or that he was saying it so straightforwardly.

Worf's words gave Geordi hope; it felt as though his heart was thumping in his chest. Yet he couldn't help trying to understand better. "How long?" he asked.

"I am not sure, exactly," Worf said.

"But you've never said anything."

"I did not think it was appropriate."

"Is this some sort of ... Klingon thing?" Geordi asked. "You were raised in a human family, surely you don't have any taboo against same sex relationships?"

"On the contrary," Worf said. "It is not much spoken of, but on a Bird of Prey relationships between the warriors on board are commonplace."

"Then what?"

Worf looked at him as though it was obvious. "You are my superior officer."

"Oh, come on, Worf," Geordi said. "That's a technicality, and you know it."

"Nevertheless," Worf said. "It remains the case."

"With all due respect, Worf, that still doesn't explain everything."

Worf took another swig from his drink before answering. When he did, he looked away, staring at the bat'leth hanging on the wall. "If we had continued, that would have been the first time I ... bonded with someone in that way, since ... K'Ehleyr."

Tentatively, Geordi put his hand on Worf's. "Worf, I'm sorry."

"It was _Duras_ who murdered her," Worf said, practically spitting the name. "You should not--"

"Worf, it's OK," Geordi said. "You must have had a lot to think about."

"As, it would seem, have you," Worf said. "Am I to take it that 

"Worf..." Geordi said. He picked up Worf's hand and drew it closer, thinking to kiss it.

But Worf shook him off. "Not like this," he said. "We must complete the bonding as we began it."

* * *

Geordi dodged to the side as Worf came at him again, then somersaulted out of the way. He was thankful for the softness of the grass on the hillside: the change of setting was one of the concessions about the design of the program he'd managed to extract from Worf.

"Fight me properly!" Worf yelled, as he gave chase.

At that, Geordi turned and ran straight at Worf, ducking at the last minute as he jabbed the bat'leth into his side and ran on past.

Worf stopped for a moment, feeling the point on his side where he would have been bleeding if not for the holodeck safeties. "Good technique," he observed mildly. And then, without warning, he raised his bat'leth again, forcing Geordi into a desperate parry.

They traded a few more blows -- Geordi was feeling pretty pleased with how well he was holding his own, but he knew it was only a matter of time before Worf got the better of him. Sure enough, before too long he had been knocked backwards and Worf was above him once more.

"Yield!" Worf said, and there was a dangerous gleam in his eye that said that he knew exactly what he was doing in recreating the circumstances of yesterday.

Geordi played along, resisting the urge to smile. "I yield! I yield!"

And then Worf was on him, bat'leth discarded, kissing him roughly, his teeth digging into Geordi's lip, his hands pulling at his uniform, his cock hard against his thigh and being pressed into it enthusiastically. Geordi was overwhelmed, his every attempt to reciprocate Worf's actions beaten back. He was even more glad now that he'd at least been able to persuade Worf to adjust the program slightly; he couldn't imagine what this would be like with coarse sand instead of soft grass underneath him.

It wasn't long before Worf had him completely naked, and then Geordi had a moment of relief from the cavalcade of sensation as Worf removed his own uniform. As he pulled off his pants, his cock sprang free, and Geordi swallowed involuntarily. He had already had an idea of how long and thick it was from feeling it against him, but the sequence of ridges along the top took him by surprise.

Before Worf could get back on top of him, Geordi levered himself up so that he could wrap his lips around the tip. Worf groaned appreciatively, and pulled on the back of Geordi's head to draw him closer. A bit of fumbling later, he was on his knees -- whether he had manoeuvred himself into that position or Worf had pulled him up was a moot point -- and taking as much of Worf into his mouth as he could. He swirled his tongue around Worf's hard cock, licking back and forth over each ridge in turn; each time he did, Worf pulled his head closer in, until Geordi could feel the tip pressing against the back of his throat and he had to make a special effort to breathe through his nose. It was hard to believe that this was the first time they were doing this, everything about it felt so natural.

Then Worf was pulling him away again. He didn't need to say anything for Geordi to know what he wanted. He placed one final kiss on the tip of Worf's cock before turning around and getting onto all fours. It was only then, as his own cock bounced against his belly, that he became aware of exactly how turned on he had become.

And then he wasn't able to think straight any more, as Worf slid into him. The fact that this was what Geordi had imagined when he'd masturbated to the thought of them doing this only turned him on even more, but then, instead of on his hips as in Geordi's fantasy, Worf placed one hand on his back, forcing him downwards, and somehow the angle changed so that Worf was even deeper inside him. Geordi could feel those ridges stimulating his ass as Worf fucked him with slow, deliberate thrusts, the coating of saliva Geordi had given his cock acting as lubrication.

"Worf," Geordi managed to gasp out.

"Am I being too rough?" Worf said, stopping for a moment. It was only then that Geordi remembered that Worf had told him that a part of him always worried that humans were "too fragile" for this sort of thing, and Geordi had assured him that he had no intention of ending up in sickbay if he could help it, so would definitely tell him if that was a problem.

That wasn't what Geordi wanted, though. "No," he said. "Harder."

Worf didn't need to be told twice. He slid deep into Geordi's ass, then back again until only the tip was inside him, then did it again, faster and faster. As he did so, he gripped Geordi's cock with his free hand, pumping it hard. And then everything was happening at once: Worf grunted as he came inside Geordi, and this, combined with Worf's rough strokes drove Geordi over the edge as well, his come spilling out onto the grass.

Then they were still for just a moment, until Geordi levered himself upwards. He expected that Worf would pull out, then, but instead he pulled him back towards him, so that Geordi was kneeling in front of him. He leaned down to bite gently on Geordi's collarbone, an act which sent a new wave of sensation crashing through Geordi's body. When he finally stopped, he nipped Geordi's earlobe and whispered, "Par'Mach'kai." 

Geordi didn't need a translation.


End file.
